


I See You

by arquadia



Category: Tangled I guess, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Badass Raven, Bellamy Blake Being an Asshole, Bellarke, Braidsbraidsbraids, Clarke kinda OOC at first, F/M, Octavia too young for a bf so no Linc sorry, Princess Clarke, dead!Jake, fluff at times, flynnrider/eugene!Bellamy, king!Marcus, magic?, mothergothel!ALIE, queen!Abby, rapunzel!clarke, the parallels are crazy y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arquadia/pseuds/arquadia
Summary: Bellarke Tangled AU, but the whole thing! I absolutely love the parallels between Tangled and Bellamy and Rapunzel and Clarke. This will probably follow the Tangled plot pretty closely, but with a twist or two along the way... ;) Pure Bellarke."Who are you?"The girl in front of him looked like something out of the book of Greek Gods. She was frowning down at him, frying pan poised- the source of the headache, no doubt- with these huge blue eyes that seemed to be nipping at the edges of Bellamy's consciousness. And her hair- wait, her hair- Bellamy glanced down at his bonds. It was softer than rope, and golden, and-- he was tied up in this girl's hair."Is this- did you tie me up in hair?"





	I See You

  
Far beyond the city limits, far beyond even where the forest began, shuttered by cliffs and blankets of ivy in all directions, stood a tower. It was an unfriendly construction, tall and cold, with no entrances or exits for the first five hundred feet. But perched at the top, overspilling with wildflowers only the birds could see, was a small window that glowed with a single candle at night. And inside the window began the colors.

  
Splattered across every wall were depictions of flowers, fields, mountains, sunsets, and anything visible from the little window. The paintings reached up to cover every available inch of the interior, crawling around the bookshelves and even extending to the furniture on occasion. The room was small but warm, and in the middle of it sat a teenage girl.

  
If you were to enter the room, by chance, and see the girl, the first thing you'd notice would be her hair. Oodles and oodles of it- golden, winding, braided in places and left free in others, spiraling around her and seemingly immeasurable in the small room. And if, by chance, the girl turned to you, you would then see her eyes and you might forget all about the hair and get lost in their icy glow. And then she might start speaking- and then you'd want nothing more than to hear her forever. But nobody had ever entered this room and seen this girl except one wicked old woman.

Clarke was painfully bored. She had painted everything. She'd tried every color, every combination, every shape she could imagine. She lay in the middle of the floor- she had cleaned, braided, brushed, watered the plants, brushed some more, even learned to play the flute. The boredom started in her stomach and flowed out like fog, filling the entire room and suffocating her. She heaved herself up to the windowsill and looked out at the world for the millionth and oneth time. The same view, the same wonder. It didn't look so bad, did it? Hard to believe it was such an evil place. A voice called from below.

  
"Clarke! Let down your hair, darling!" Clarke sighed. The only respite from the monotony of her life- her mother- was beginning to become annoying lately. She was eighteen. In every book she'd read, that was the age children started leaving the house- going out, to school, learning new things and falling in love. But she heaved her hair up onto the hook and let it tumble to the ground. To the _grass_. Clarke wondered more than anything what it might be like to feel grass under her feet.

"Quickly now, darling!" 

* * *

 

Bellamy hadn't meant to become a thief. Not really. But what choice had he had? That was what he told himself as he bolted across the rooftop of the palace, leaping from spire to spire, the wind flipping and toying with his black curls. It didn't help that he was so good at it.

Hearing a guard at his left, he ducked below the crest of brick next to him, sliding until his foot caught the gutter. He allowed himself a moment to look down at the keep beneath him. Descending from the palace was a winding cluster of red-roofed homes, taverns, and shops, crisscrossed with the purple flags that were the insignia of the King and Queen and Polis itself. He grimaced and then grinned, patting the leather satchel that hung across his body- the King and Queen probably weren't too happy about his newest loot. Bellamy looped his rope in a makeshift harness around his waist and ripped his climbing knife from his pocket. He swung the rope around a sturdy-looking (fingers crossed) pipe that crawled down the sheer edge of the tower, knotting it into a careful figure-eight shape. Then, wedging his knife into the mossed-over crack between the stones, he swung off the gutter.

The wind hit him again with a fierce, fresh coldness, churned up from the sea past the palace. Bellamy grinned as he climbed down the building, allowing the air to riffle through his clothes and clean every inch of him- he needed a bath anyway. As the burglar ducked past a window, he chuckled for a moment, imagining what might happen if some little schoolboy happened to look up to the East Wing of the castle, or if some scullery maid happened to duck out of a window to shake out a carpet. But that had never happened. After all, he was Bellamy Blake, and this wasn't his first climb around the castle.

As arranged, Bellamy met the Grounder Brothers at the Busted Knuckle Inn. He sauntered in easily but remembered, in the back of his mind, that leaving might be much harder. He pulled up a seat at the bar and knocked twice, the general Knuckle indicator that he wanted a pint. The Brothers made their presence known quickly and quietly, settling into the seats on either side of Bellamy with a huge and heavy presence. Bellamy glanced to his left and then his right, almost comforted by the all-too-familiar feeling of being dwarfed by the gigantic men, their matching cleft chins newly blanketed in equally massive red beards. As usual, they wore intimidating black paint streaked under and behind their eyes.

  
"Nice beards, guys," Bellamy said, taking a swig of his ale. He decided swiveling to face one of them might offend the other, so he stayed facing forward.

  
"Where is it?" _Always straight to the point, these two._

  
"You know where it is." Bellamy patted the satchel again. "But I wanted to make sure we're clear on the split. 60-40, as arranged."

  
"You know, we were thinking it might go more like 50-50." The second brother shifted and Bellamy felt a trickle of sweat fall behind his ear. "After all, we did take out the guards."

  
"True, true. But I got the goods out. 60-40." A beat of silence fell over the trio, and Bellamy pretended not to notice the furtive glance the brothers shared. And then, all three jumped into motion at once.

* * *

 

Clarke took a deep breath.

  
"Mother, I've been thinking." She felt her heart crawling into her throat and she fidgeted.

  
"Yes, my flower?" The older woman closed the wardrobe door and glanced at herself, not without admiration, in the mirror. She pursed her lips- painted in red- studying her deep cheekbones, perfect dark hair, and crisp eyes. She looked nothing like Clarke, she knew, but it was no shock. She began to brush her daughter's hair, using an enameled horsehair heirloom that Clarke had seen every day of her life.

  
"Well, I was thinking- ow-" A bristle tugged sharply at a knot- "I was thinking... my eighteenth birthday's in just a few days, and you know that I-"

  
"Lord, Clarke, you're always mumbling. Speak up, for Heaven's sake." Clarke swallowed hard and turned to face her mother, resolute.  
"I think I'm ready to leave the tower. I know you've warned me about what's out there, but-" The dark-haired woman slammed the brush down onto the vanity, cutting off her daughter.

  
"Clarke." Her voice matched her eyes- cold and dangerous. "How many times have I warned you about what lies outside of this tower? How many times have I told you about the danger, the terror, that waits for you out there? About-"

  
"Snakes and men and murderers, I know." Clarke decided to go all the way. "But I've been in this tower my whole life. I'm an adult now. I need to see the world, Mother." The only sound in the room was a small hiss of rage.

  
"I brought you here to keep you safe. You are a _child_. You know nothing about the world." Clarke's mother placed a hand on her cheek, but it wasn't a loving caress. Her nails hovered and for a moment, Clarke wondered if the motion was a threat. "This tower is the only safe place for us, and you are the only good, untouched person left in this world." She pushed her daughter back into the chair and began to brush with more ferocity. "We'll talk no more about it." Clarke bit her lip.

  
"Yes, Mother."

  
"There's a good girl. Now, what would you like for your birthday? A present should cheer you up, hmm?" Clarke had several ideas in rapid succession. She was glad she wasn't sitting in front of the mirror, or her mother might have deduced the plan from her expression.

  
"Actually, there is something I would like." Clarke gripped the side of the chair with her nails. "You know the coral paint I use? The light pink one?" Her mother hummed assent as she continued brushing. "Well, I've run out. I was hoping you could find me some more- I had a plan for a portrait and I need the pink for the-"

  
"I can only get that paint from Eastwatch. And that's three days' journey. You'd have to be alone for a long while, Clarke." The answer was singsongy, and Clarke knew her mother suspected nothing.

  
"Please, Mother. It's all I want." She tried for a childish tone.

  
"Fine. But I'll need to leave tomorrow morning. Help me pack, dear."

* * *

 

  
Bellamy sprinted, and if he weren't still running for his life, he might have enjoyed the run. But with two large men still behind him, somehow having crossed the bay and found his small camp, there was no time for such pleasures. He leaped over log after log, swinging around oaks and ducking under wayward branches. The wind stirred his curls up and around his head, dampened with sweat. His chest burned, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to keep running much longer.

  
"Blake!" A holler from behind him shocked him out of his rhythm, sending him sprawling over a fallen log and onto his back. In the stillness of the forest, he could hear the brothers crashing not far behind him.

  
"Come out, Blake. You can't run forever!" _They're right about that._ Bellamy made a quick decision. He might not be able to run anymore, but he could try hiding.

He rolled through the underbrush to tuck himself along the underside of a nearby boulder, resting at the foot of the steep cliffs that led the forest to meet the sky. Begging his breathing to quiet, he stayed completely still. Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth and, as slowly and inconspicuously as he could, Bellamy began to inch around the side of the boulder. The thick legs in front of him began wandering, searching. _Damn._ He continued sidling, going just a bit further-- and then the world fell away.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked the first chapter! No "we're back bitches", I'm afraid, but that's not Clarke's line anyway. If you enjoyed, please comment/leave kudos and tell me what you liked and if there are any specific scenes you'd like to see. Thanks for reading <3


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